


Spidercat: Why Stop at Just Spiders?

by Orcusnox (Cat9894)



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), spideypool - Fandom
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Little bit of angst, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spidercat, reference to suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 18:39:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5938942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cat9894/pseuds/Orcusnox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Parker must have the worst luck. Not only did he fight a villain and end up with cat ears and a tail, Deadpool has managed to discover his secret identity.</p><p>He definitely doesn't expect a happy ending to this story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spidercat: Why Stop at Just Spiders?

**Author's Note:**

> Has anyone ever realized how much fan art there is of Peter with cat ears and a tail? Because I did. So here's a fic for you Spidercat lovers out there.

    Peter woke up with a groan. His head _ached_ , and his brain wasn’t fully functional because he couldn’t remember why he was lying on the concrete floor of a warehouse that looked abandoned and smelled like a toilet.

    “Jesus on a pogo stick, what the fuck?”

    Peter rolled onto his side, blinking at the familiar voice. “Deadpool?” he croaked.

    “Spidey! My main man! Not that I’m complaining, but when did you change? Totally digging the cat ears – you look even more adorable than usual!”

    Peter blinked. “Cat ears?” he repeated blankly. What was Deadpool on about?

    A huge hand reached for the top of his head, and Peter jerked away automatically, limbs working flawlessly to push him up and away.

    At least, they tried. But his feet got tangled with something and he collapsed into a decidedly ungraceful heap only a few feet from where he’d started.

    “Holy hell, Spidey – you have ears _and_ a tail! Am I dreaming right now, because I think I’ve had several fantasies that started out just like this!”

    “Do your fantasies usually start out in abandoned warehouses?” Peter asked without thinking, staring at the sleek black limb tangled around his legs. “I have a tail.” He looked up at Deadpool. “Deadpool, why do I have a tail?” He blinked and rubbed his eyes. “Also, why do _you_ have a tail?”

    “I have a _tail_?” Deadpool screeched, whirling in a circle as he tried to catch it.

    Deadpool’s tail was nothing like Peter’s. For one thing, the fur was longer. For another, his tail was golden yellow as opposed to Peter’s coal black. He didn’t have ears (that Peter could discern from beneath his mask). If Peter had to guess, he’d say Deadpool’s tail belonged to some kind of dog. A very big, very friendly dog.

    “Spidey, I have a tail. It has fur. Feel it, feel it!” Deadpool danced over to him before shoving his ass into Peter’s face.

    “Get your butt out of my face,” Peter spluttered, moving back on reflex again. This time, he managed to make it two steps before his tail wove between his legs and tripped him up.

    “Ya know, I thought cats were supposed to be graceful,” Deadpool said, a grin visible beneath his mask. “Not that I’m complaining, but you’re spending an awful amount of time on the floor.”

    “Shut up,” Peter grumbled, absently webbing the merc’s mask. Thank god he still had his webs.

    Deadpool pulled off the webbing. “Spidercat, Spidercat, does whatever a Spidercat does. Hey, can you still climb walls?”

    “Wade,” Peter said, frustrated, “I can’t even walk right now.”

    What the fuck had _happened_? Peter’s mind was still a blank, and Deadpool wasn’t volunteering any information, so Peter assumed he didn’t remember either. Peter wanted to tug at his hair, but with the mask on and Wade not knowing his secret identity, he couldn’t do it. He settled for glaring at the tail.

    “Guess that means I’ll just have to carry you,” Deadpool announced gleefully. The next thing Peter knew, he was lifted by powerful arms and settled against a muscular chest.

    “Wha – no – _Wade_! Put me down!”

    “But you just said you can’t walk,” Deadpool pointed out. “So be a good kitty and don’t scratch.”

    Peter flushed. “Let me down! I just need to figure out how to control this stupid thing,” he gestured wildly at the tail that was now curling around Deadpool’s arm, “and then I’ll be good!”

    “It doesn’t look like your tail is agreeing with you,” Deadpool said, glancing at Peter’s tail. “Don’t stress – I’ll put you down once we get to my apartment. I’ll stay in the shadows and everything. I can be stealthy.”

    Peter grumbled in protest but let the merc carry him. The two men remained quiet – something unheard of in Deadpool’s case. The silence ended the moment the two stepped inside Deadpool’s apartment.

    “What’s that _smell_?” Peter asked, covering his nose.

    Deadpool tilted his head as he placed Peter’s feet onto the ground with startling gentleness. “You were here yesterday. You didn’t complain about the smell then.”

    Peter stumbled a few steps forward, suddenly aware his tail was lashing from side to side. “It didn’t smell like this yesterday,” he maintained.

    Deadpool shrugged, uninterested. “Guess you’ll just have to deal with it until you can Spidercat crawl your way outta here. Want a beer?”

    “I don’t drink,” Peter replied distractedly, not mentioning that legally he _couldn’t_ drink for another year. “You know that.”

    Where was that horrible smell _coming_ from? Peter pulled his hands away from his nose, grimacing beneath the mask as he took in a long, purposeful breath. His head jerked to the left, towards the living room. Had something died in there? Had Wade – Deadpool – killed someone in there?

    Peter moved without really thinking about it, his steps almost silent even to his own ears. He peered into the room, apprehensive. But it was empty of any bodies, so Peter relaxed a little. He sniffed again, stepping over the discarded pizza boxes that littered the floor.

    Wade’s – _Deadpool’s_ – favourite armchair sat innocently in the room, the furthest seat from the door. It was old, leather worn and torn in places, but Wade – _Deadpool_ – said it was the most comfortable seat in the apartment.

    “Spidey, where’d you go?” Wade – he was _Deadpool_ , he wasn’t _Wade_ – called from the kitchen. “Did you crawl out the window again? That’s really damn rude… He does it all the time… I know he has places to be, but the guy could afford to say _bye_ … More tacos for me! Right you are, Yellow.”

    Peter stared at the armchair, completely still except for the end of his tail, which twitched from side to side. “How many times?” he asked, but his voice was hardly audible to his own ears.

    In the kitchen, Wade was still talking to himself, something about the pros and cons of having hair (?) so he obviously hadn’t heard Peter.

    “How many times?” Peter demanded, his voice coming out strong and clear.

    The sounds in the kitchen stopped abruptly. “Spidey? That you?”

    “How many times?” Jesus, Peter was starting to feel like a broken record. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the armchair, couldn’t stop breathing in the scent of death.

    “How many times what, snookums?” Wade called, prancing into the room. “You’re gonna have to be more specific – oh.” Peter didn’t turn to look at him, and Wade cleared his throat nervously. “Well, I’ve jerked off on that armchair more times than I can count –”

    “Not what I want to know, Wade,” Peter hissed.

    Wade seemed to rally himself. “You can’t just come in here and demand answers to stupid questions –”

    “Stupid questions?” Peter repeated, finally tearing his eyes away from the armchair. “ _Stupid questions_?”

    Wade’s tail was drooping, brushing the floor, even as Wade effected an annoyed air. “Yes, Spidey, stupid questions. It’s none of your concern –”

    Peter hissed furiously, the sound animalistic enough to stop whatever Wade had been to say. “In case you’ve forgotten, Wade,” Peter said, taking rigid, furious steps towards the mercenary, “I am a _hero_. I _save_ people. That’s what I do. Finding out that one of my friends _kills himself_ often enough that he can’t actually answer a simple question means I’m not doing my job. So _how many times_ , Wade?”

    “We’re friends?” Wade asked, his tail starting to wag slowly. “Really, Spidey?”

    “Not the part you were supposed to focus on,” Peter replied sharply.

    “Oh no. You don’t get to say shit like that and expect me to _ignore_ it. So we’re friends, huh? How long has that been going on? Because I distinctly recall you saying we spent way too much time together for acquaintances. Also, you seem very fond of kicking me into walls. I mean, I can totally heal from that no problem, but you still _kick me into walls_. I must have missed the memo where friends do that to each other.”

    “Answer the question,” Peter said, taking another threatening step forward. “Before I decide that kicking you into the wall is a fantastic idea.”

    Wade’s face twisted under his mask. “You can’t save everyone, Spidey.”

    Peter rocked back on his heels, the words physically punching the air from his lungs. He gaped at Wade, because _how dare he_? Peter _knew_ he couldn’t save everyone. He was well aware of that fact. He lost sleep because of that fact. He’d _hurt_ himself because of that fact.

    “And I can’t die. So what’s the big deal?”

    Peter shook his head wordlessly, pretending that Wade’s blasé attitude didn’t make his chest ache. “There is no deal,” Peter said, but his voice came out hoarser and more broken than he’d anticipated and Wade picked up on it because, while he was many things, an oblivious idiot was not one of them.

    Peter backed up, doing his best not to look at the armchair. “There is no deal,” he repeated. “I’ll see myself out.” He pushed the window opened and fled, ignoring Wade calling out for him.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

    He felt more put together in the morning. He still had his ears and tail, and he’d had an unpleasant nightmare that had involved things he generally tried not to think about, but he didn’t feel like there were broken pieces of glass shredding his heart anymore.

    That’s what Peter told himself as he arrived at Stark Industries. He stepped inside, flashing a smile at the receptionist – Stacey, who dropped her mug of coffee on her lap when she caught sight of Peter’s ears and tail – and climbed into the elevator, readying himself for the questions he would no doubt receive.

    “What the shit, Parker?” Tony Stark asked, jaw dropping to the floor.

    Peter sighed, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I don’t know,” he replied tersely. “I woke up with them.”

    “They’re _attached_?” Tony demanded. “You can control them?”

    The Avengers didn’t know he was Spiderman. The Avengers knew him as Peter Parker, the quiet nerd intern Tony had adopted as a kind of protégée when it became clear he understood more of Tony’s rants than the other interns. That was not to say Peter understood them all – he was still left scratching his head at the brilliance that was Tony Stark.

    “To a degree,” Peter said. “The tail… Keeps trying to trip me. It’s annoying.”

    “Why didn’t you just stay home?” Tony asked. “It’ll just get in your way.”

    Peter snorted on a laugh. “How would you have liked me to explain this, Mr Stark?”

    “I’ve told you, call me Tony. How did you even get here without anyone noticing?”

    Peter gestured to his coat. “It’s cold enough outside that I didn’t look too weird.”

    “Tony, Deadpool is trying to break into – Peter? What happened?” Bruce Banner dropped the files he was carrying. “You have ears. And a tail. You _have_ noticed that, right?”

    “He said he woke up with them.”

    “I must have been playing around with some odd chemicals yesterday.” Peter shrugged. “Oh, and I heard on the news there was some weirdo out? Spiderman apparently took care of him.”

    Peter didn’t remember doing anything of the sort. The events of last night, before waking up in the warehouse, were still blurry. He knew he’d teamed up with Deadpool, knew there’d been a new villain – likely an idiotic one – but nothing else.

    Tony was shaking his head. “Spiderman didn’t. Deadpool did.”

    Bruce sighed. “He killed him.”

    “What? I – Spiderman _let_ him?” Peter asked, baffled.

    “No, he killed the villain this morning,” Bruce assured him. “Spiderman was nowhere near him. I don’t think he even knows. But I’ll bet he’ll be disappointed in Wade.”

    Tony abruptly threw a wrench at them. “Enough chatter. Don’t you,” he pointed at Peter, “have work to do?”

    “Yes, Mr Stark,” Peter replied. He gathered up his materials and wandered down to the labs.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

    Four hours later, Peter was beyond frustrated. His experiments weren’t working like they were supposed to, and the blood work he’d started that morning had come back with _nothing_. Well, apart from the tell-tale spider modifications that he had been careful to not let _anyone_ see.

    Peter was too preoccupied with muttering angrily at both his experiments and his blood to notice that the lab had suddenly emptied of people. All morning, other interns (not to mention people who he was sure weren’t even in the right department to be in the labs) had been wandering in to gawk and gape.

    He snatched up a pen and began to scribble formulas onto the closest sheet of paper, muttering compounds and numbers, underlining the end result viciously.

    “Why can’t you just behave?” he hissed at the petri dish, tail lashing from side to side in agitation. “Turn green, do the freaking hula. Hell, I’d be happy with a twerk right now.”

    An amused laugh filled the lab. “I should have known you’d be a nerd.”

    Peter whirled around, knocking his experiments off the bench with his tail. He couldn’t even find it in him to care – they were duds, and they were unimportant when faced with the fact that Deadpool was standing in the same room as Peter Parker.

    “Good to see you have better control over the tail,” Deadpool continued, wide grin visible under his mask. “So, working with Stark, huh, baby boy? Rubbing shoulders with the big wigs. Surprised you haven’t joined the Avengers yet.”

    Peter didn’t say anything – he _couldn’t_. What the hell was _he_ doing _here_? How had he even gotten inside? Peter knew for a fact that Deadpool was on Tony’s shit list, with orders to forcefully remove the mercenary.

    Deadpool bounced closer, peering at the mess on the floor by Peter’s foot. “Hope that wasn’t anything important. Looked important. Looks sciencey. Oh, aren’t you just the cutest little nerd there ever was?”

    “What the _fuck_ are you doing here?” Peter demanded, but he kept his voice low. It was a godsend Jarvis hadn’t checked in.

    Deadpool gasped dramatically. “Baby boy, you _swore_! I didn’t know you had it in you, Petey!”

    Well, that was a really good reason to swear. Apparently, Peter’s luck had decided that today would be a good day to take a vacation. Because not only did the mercenary know where he worked, he knew his freaking _name_. He could find Peter’s home. He could find _Aunt May_.

    “Look at him – he’s speechless! Yes, shut up, I know… No, he wouldn’t do that… You really think so? I guess we’d better take some preventative measures.”

    Peter had apparently forgotten that Deadpool could _move_ , because the next thing he knew he was pinned bodily to the nearby desk, feet pinned together between the hard muscles of Deadpool’s thighs. He gasped, a little delayed, and struggled to sit up. Deadpool kept him pinned to the desk with a hand completely circling his throat. Peter promptly froze, staring up at the mercenary with wide eyes.

    “Now stay, there’s a good boy.” Deadpool nodded to himself, satisfied. “He can’t kick me into a wall now! Preventative measures for the win!”

    “Let me go,” Peter hissed, squeezing Deadpool’s wrist with both of his hands. “I’ll break it,” he threatened.

    Deadpool tilted his head to the side. “You sure about that, baby boy? Because I’d hate to accidentally squeeze just a little too tight.” His fingers squeezed briefly around Peter’s throat, a warning more than anything.

    Peter reluctantly dropped his hands.

    “That’s better! Now, before you go on a ‘stalking is bad’ rant, I’d like to point out that I didn’t even know you were here until Stark opened his big mouth to tell me an interesting story about one of his interns who grew cat ears and a tail overnight. So don’t get mad at me. Stark’s the one letting your secret identity out.”

    “They don’t know,” Peter growled.

    Deadpool froze. “What do you mean they don’t know?”

    “Exactly what I said.”

    “Hold on. How don’t they – you haven’t _told them_?”

    Peter wriggled in Deadpool’s hold. “It’s not exactly a secret if I tell anyone, is it?”

    “No, I suppose not,” Deadpool replied, sounding oddly serious. “Yes, I get what that means… Woah, no, I didn’t even think of that. Shit.” Deadpool leaned closer to whisper in his ear. “Have I totally blown your secret identity cover, because I _am_ sorry about that. I totally thought the Avengers knew.”

    “How did you even get in here?” Peter asked. “And can you get off me?”

    “Secret ninja skills, baby boy. And no. I’m still not convinced you won’t kick us into a wall.”

    “Trust me,” Peter hissed. “I _will_ kick you into a wall. When we’re both in our suits.”

    “Oh, kinky. Do you like playing dress up, Petey? Because let me tell you, you’d look fantastic in a dress… No wait, that’s a good point… We like his ass… Okay, that could work… No, shut up! You’re distracting me.”

    “Get off me, Deadpool.”

    “I’ll get off _on_ you! Ha! I’m totally kidding, I would never do that to you… Unless you wanted me to?”

    Peter tried to free his feet, but whatever the mercenary had said about being distracted was a lie, because his grip on Peter’s feet hadn’t given in the slightest. He made a noise of frustration and glared up at Deadpool.

    “No, seriously. I came for a reason.”

    Peter raised an eyebrow. “And that reason _wasn’t_ so you could pin me to the desk and make me angry?”

    “What? No, of course not! Well, the angry bit at least.” Deadpool abruptly scowled. “Stop distracting me. It’s important.”

    “Well?”

    Deadpool hesitated. “You can’t save everyone, Petey.”

    Peter stopped breathing. His air was gone, his body was still, and all he could do was stare up at Deadpool with wide eyes. He hadn’t expected the merc to kick him while he was down. He certainly hadn’t expected it to hurt _more_ the second time.

    Deadpool swore. “Shit. We really did hurt you, huh?”

    Peter blinked up at him. “I’m fine,” he said through his teeth.

    Deadpool wagged a finger in Peter’s face. “Don’t tell lies, baby boy. You’ll ruin your rep.”

    “Deadpool, what the hell are you doing to my intern?” Tony yelled, abruptly storming into the lab. “And what did you do to Jarvis?”

    Deadpool swung around, releasing his hold on Peter. “Hey, tin man, I ain’t doing shit. Petey-pie and I were just discussing our eerily similar transformations.” Deadpool indicated his own tail with a wave.

    “Are you alright, Peter?” Natasha asked, appearing behind Tony. She eyed Deadpool. “If you’ve harmed a hair on his head, Deadpool…”

    “I’m fine!” Peter exclaimed. He sat up, absently rubbing his throat.

    “Get out of my tower, Wilson!” Tony barked.

    Deadpool muttered a curse before turning back to Peter. “We’ll continue this later.” And then he was gone, dashing away in another dazzling display of speed.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

    The last thing Peter had expected when he left work that evening was to be dragged into an alley and pushed face first against the wall.

    “The hell?” he gasped, peering over his shoulder to stare at Deadpool. “What is _wrong_ with you?”

    “You really want me to answer that? We’ll be here all night.”

    “Deadpool,” Peter growled, trying to shove himself away from the wall but the firm hand between his shoulder blades didn’t budge.

    “Hey, you’re the one that started with stupid questions, baby boy. Anyway. I really don’t want you kicking me. I have things to say.”

    “Don’t you always?” Peter asked dryly.

    “I want to apologize,” Deadpool said. Peter blinked in surprise. “We didn’t think… We didn’t know that we hurt you the first time. I just sort of ran my mouth, like usual, but you didn’t laugh or talk back… You just left. I figured I’d done _something_ wrong.”

    Peter wanted to spit ‘What’s new?’, but the obvious sincerity in Deadpool’s voice stilled his tongue.

    “So I’m sorry. I came to the tower because I thought if anyone would know where you were, it’d be the Avengers. I didn’t think you’d be _working_ there as some sort of science nerd. Not that that’s a bad thing. You are one hot nerd. Also, the glasses make you look adorable. Don’t really like the long white coat – how am I supposed to stare at your ass?”

    “You’re not,” Peter replied grimly. He wriggled. “Seriously, let me down. I’m fine. I accept your apology. I promise not to kick you into a wall until I’m in my suit.”

    “Do you guys believe him…? Yeah, me neither. Listen, baby boy, we’re really going to have to work on your lying, because it is _really_ obvious that you’ve never practiced. Not that that’s a bad thing, props to you, but what happens if you _really need_ to lie? Like, to save your life?”

    “I’m not going to kick you into a wall if you let me down _now_ ,” Peter maintained.

    Deadpool’s hand fell away from his back abruptly, and Peter only barely managed to keep his feet under him when he landed. He hadn’t even realized Deadpool had been holding him up so high. He fixed his coat, making sure the hood was up and his ears were covered before turning to glare at Deadpool.

    “Woah, it’s so different when we can see your _face_. I mentioned you were cute, right? Because if they had a scale of cuteness, you’d be off the charts. How _old_ are you? You seriously look, like, eighteen. And there is no way you’ve been Spidey since you were thirteen… Oh shit, my bad.” Deadpool glanced around suspiciously. “Anyone could have heard that.”

    “Just… Stop talking,” Peter said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

    “But I think I found a cure,” Deadpool replied.

    Peter’s hand dropped so fast his glasses almost fell off his nose. “You what? How?”

    “Well, I had a really _interesting_ conversation with the guy from yesterday –”

    “Really? Because I heard you killed him.”

    “You know I hate the k-word.”

    Peter huffed and folded his arms. “Fine. You ‘unalived’ him.”

    “Bullets may have been shot, swords may have been swung, but you won’t get me to admit to anything! Moving on! The guy had a cure! But there’s only enough for one of us, if you believe what he said. Which I kind of do. He had incentive not to lie.”

    “So do you have the cure?” Peter asked.

    “Yeah, back at my place! I figure you can probably make more, now that I know you’re a little science nerd. But you still have to come back to my place.”

    Peter shifted a little uneasily. The last thing he wanted to do was go back to Wade’s – _Deadpool’s_ – apartment. Apparently, the mercenary noticed, because he began to talk.

    “We won’t even go into that room, promise! We can totally stay in the kitchen, nothing wrong with my kitchen… Don’t remind me… You think that matters…? Fine, smart ass, be like that… Wait, we have taco stuff? Sweet! Petey, we’re having tacos!”

    Wade grabbed Peter’s wrist without waiting for a response and dragged him away.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

    Peter stared at the tacos piled on the kitchen bench. There had to be at least thirty, and that wasn’t even counting the ones that were still being prepared. “I really hope you weren’t planning on eating most of those,” he said.

    Wade turned, his mask rolled up high enough to reveal his lips pursed together. “Of course I am! What, are you telling me you think you can eat more than me?”

    The indignation in Wade’s voice almost made Peter laugh. He struggled to contain the smile on his face. “I haven’t eaten all day,” he explained, shrugging. “I woke up later than normal, and I missed lunch because _you_ broke into Stark’s tower… So I think I can eat more than you, yeah.”

    Wade looked critically at the assembled feast. “Split it?” he offered after a moment.

    Peter shrugged, reminding himself that Wade hadn’t _had_ to make him food. “If you’re okay with that.” His tail curled around his leg, and Peter shot a glare at it. “Can I sit?” He didn’t want to fall over again.

    Wade waved to the table and the odd collection of chairs surrounding it. “Pull up a seat,” he said, attention focused elsewhere.

    Peter sat on the purple and red striped chair, his back facing the room with Wade’s armchair. He had studiously avoided looking in that direction, limiting the amount of breaths he’d taken until he’d realized Wade must have sprayed some air freshener or something, because he couldn’t pick up a single trace of the death he’d smelled yesterday.

    Peter jumped when Wade dumped a plate full of tacos in front of him, jerked from his thoughts. “Thanks,” he said.

    “No worries, baby boy! These will be the best tacos you’ve ever tasted, promise. Learnt the recipe from an old blind lady – wouldn’t think she could cook, and she couldn’t, now that I think about it… Except tacos. Her pancakes were horrible, don’t even get me started on those. Nearly _died_ the first time I had them, not that that’s a big deal for yours truly, but what a way to go! Death by pancakes, am I right?”

    Peter bit into the taco and had to hold back his moan of pleasure – Wade’s tacos were _amazing_ , and not five minutes later he’d finished his plate, going as far as to contemplate licking the plate for any residual flavouring.

    Wade snatched Peter’s plate away and filled it again without asking, a grin visible on his face. Peter ate his second helping slower, frowning. How had he never known the mercenary could cook? They’d been hanging out for nearly a year, long enough that Peter felt… not exactly _confident_ that he could handle the other man, but at least confident he could trust Wade not to mess around during team ups.

    Peter’s eyes landed on Wade’s tail, wagging happily as he ate, and he abruptly remembered why he was here. “So,” he began, “the cure?”

    Wade blinked at him for a moment before scrambling back to his feet. “Wait right here!” he shouted, disappearing into the back room that Peter assumed was his bedroom. He winced when he heard several things slam into the walls. The mercenary was running his mouth like usual, but it took him a good two minutes before he emerged. Clutched in his hand was a vial of watery, grey liquid.

    “This is what he gave me. Thought I’d lost it… Yeah, our hiding places are the best! We can even hide things from ourselves.” He tossed the vial carelessly to Peter, chattering to himself. Peter caught it and examined it with a frown.

    “Isn’t that right, Petey?”

    Peter’s head jerked up. “Huh?” he replied intelligently.

    Peter thought it was a sign he’d spent _way_ too much time in Wade’s company when he _knew_ the other man was rolling his eyes. “I was saying that you’ll be able to make more, right? I mean, this sort of stuff us way above my paygrade – ha! – but you! You’re a little science nerd!”

    “That doesn’t mean I can replicate it,” Peter grumbled. “And stop calling me that.”

    Wade’s head titled questioningly to the side. “I call you lots of things, Petey. You’re gonna have to be more specific with that one.”

    “‘Little science nerd’,” Peter said, his voice mocking. “I’m not actually little, and I can certainly kick your ass, nerd status or not.”

    “Is that a challenge, Petey?” Wade practically wriggled in delight, a very familiar smirk on his face.

    “Statement of fact,” Peter replied, but he placed the vial on the table and pushed himself away from the table.

    Wade lunged, avoiding the table. Peter flipped backwards off his chair, jumping up to stick to the ceiling. He peered down at Wade with a grin.

    “Getting a bit slow with your old age,” he teased, tail waving from side to side and ears flicking playfully.

    Wade stared at him before crouching, two knives in his hands. Peter wasn’t entirely sure where they’d come from, but they were better than Wade’s katanas. “Oh baby boy, it is _on_ ,” he murmured.

    They spent the next ten minutes dancing around Wade’s apartment. Peter was faster than Wade, but the mercenary was unpredictable. Several times, Peter found himself pinned to the ceiling or a wall, dodging at the last minute as Wade began to celebrate his victory.

    And all the while, the two never stopped talking.

    “Fucking hell! You don’t _actually_ want to kill me, right?”

    “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

    “My mother’s dead. Like yours.”

    “How do you know? My mother could be alive and well!”

    “You told me she died giving birth to you!”

    “Oh. Huh. Did I?”

    “You are such a liar, Wade. Watch where you’re swinging that thing!”

    “Do you need a haircut, baby boy? I think I took some hair.”

    “As long as you don’t do any weird voodoo shit with it.”

    “Now you’re giving me _ideas_!”

    Eventually, though, Peter pinned Wade to the couch, his tail curling tightly around Wade’s ankles when the mercenary bucked, trying to throw him off. “Told you,” Peter said triumphantly.

    “You cheated,” Wade whined.

    Peter cocked an eyebrow. “How so?”

    He didn’t expect Wade to grab his tail and tug. “This!”

    Peter made a dissatisfied noise and reached behind himself to try and free his tail. “Let go,” he snapped, distinctly uncomfortable. Wade’s hand moved down his tail, away from Peter’s hand and perilously close to Peter’s ass. Peter frowned. “Wade, if you touch my ass – ah!”

    Peter’s back arched and he let out a surprised moan when Wade’s fingers tightened around the base of his tail. The two men froze and stared at each other – Peter was blushing and Wade’s mouth had fallen open in surprise.

    “What,” Wade began, “was that?”

    “I don’t know. Let go.”

    “No way, Petey! That was _interesting_! What did I do?” And he squeezed his fingers again, hard enough that Peter’s hands, which had found their way to the merc’s shoulders, tightened, nails digging into the rough leather of Wade’s suit.

    “What the fu-ah-ck?” Peter gasped, abruptly aware he was sporting an erection. “No, Wade, stop – ugh!”

    “Holy shit, baby boy.” Wade had moved on from simply squeezing – now he was gently massaging the base of Peter’s tail, and Peter couldn’t stop his body from moving, hips rocking back and forth, erection rubbing against Wade’s thigh.

    And suddenly, Peter realized it wasn’t enough. He _needed_ skin on skin, needed Wade naked under him, over him, around him – he didn’t care.

    “ _Wade_ ,” he hissed, the entire syllable heavy with need.

    “This isn’t a dream, right?” he heard Wade mutter. “If my hands weren’t busy, I’d totally stab myself right now…”

    Peter frowned down at him. “No stabbing,” he said.

    “Ok, baby boy! No stabbing! But you like the massage, right?” Wade’s fingers flexed around Peter’s tail, and the noise that flew from Peter’s lips left him blushing, glaring up at the ceiling as he cursed his body.

    “Oh man,” Wade breathed. “You _really_ like the massage!”

    Peter trembled as the mercenary kept massaging, fingers firm and strong. His fingers curled tighter around Wade’s shoulders, tail curling into the air. He froze when Wade’s other hand cupped his erection through his jeans, hips stuttering to a halt as his brain tried to figure out how to move his body.

    Wade squeezed his cock gently, muttering quietly to himself. Peter arched into his hand desperately, mind blank except for the urging to follow the pleasure Wade’s hands were bringing him. Fuck thinking.

    Peter whined, nuzzling his face into Wade’s neck. “Please, Wade,” he whispered. “It’s not enough…”

    “I’ve died and gone to heaven,” Wade muttered, rearranging Peter so he could wrap his legs around Wade’s waist. Wade stood up, effortlessly balancing Peter as he began to move through his apartment. His hands never stopped caressing Peter’s cock and tail, even as he kicked at something on the floor.

    The next thing Peter knew, he was on his back on Wade’s bed, Wade hovering over him. And god, that was good – Peter felt caged, protected. Damnit all to hell that it was the mercenary who was making him feel this way – right now, that didn’t matter.

    “Clothes,” Peter panted, arching up and rubbing his erection against Wade’s. Both men groaned at the contact. “Off,” Peter finished.

    “I don’t know, baby boy,” Wade muttered in response, thrusting hard against Peter’s clothed cock. “I’m nowhere near as attractive as you.”

    Peter snarled wordlessly, and he wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised when his nails transformed into claws and sank into the leather, slowly revealing bits of Wade’s skin as he clawed at the material.

    “Woah, hey, easy on the suit!” Wade exclaimed. “I’m gonna have to fix those holes up myself – oh man, roll your hips like that again!”

    “Take. It. Off,” Peter snarled, aggressive because he _needed_ the contact, needed the bumps and ridges and how did he _know_ what Wade’s skin felt like?

    Because when Wade took off his glove, when he ran a tentative hand along Peter’s stomach, Peter relaxed and sighed. He pressed up into the contact, silently urging Wade to undress him. It was all moving too fast – he wasn’t even sure if he _liked_ the Merc with the Mouth – but Peter couldn’t find it in himself to stop.

    “Jesus wept, baby boy,” Wade said hoarsely, removing Peter’s shirt in a swift movement. His coat had been discarded on the way to the bedroom. “Are you sure?”

    Peter hissed, pawing relentlessly at Wade’s suit. “Off,” he maintained, kicking off his shoes. He was absently aware that one of his shoes appeared to be stuck in the wall – he’d forgotten he had super-strength.

    Oh. He had super-strength.

    Peter pressed up, flipping Wade over and straddling his waist. He made a pleased sound, grinding down on Wade’s erection even as he searched for a way to take Wade’s suit off without tearing it. Frustrated, he hissed at Wade again, moving to crawl off the mercenary.

    “Oh no, I don’t think so,” Wade said, hand returning to the base of Peter’s tail. Peter stuttered to a halt, a desperate whine emerging from his throat. “You do not get to be the biggest tease in this fic. I’m going to take your clothes off first, because I want to _see_ you before you see me.”

    That didn’t quite sound fair. But when Peter opened his mouth to say as much, Wade pressed their lips together in a kiss, all teeth and tongues battling for dominance. Peter hummed, conceding victory to Wade when the mercenary managed to get his jeans off without interrupting the kiss. He let Wade pin him back onto the bed, let Wade pull back to look at him.

    “Fuck,” Wade muttered. “I’m so screwed. Please, please let this not be a dream.” He leaned down to kiss Peter again, and this time Peter reached up to pull Wade’s mask completely off his head, much to the mercenary’s obvious surprise. Peter didn’t stop the kiss to look – he caught the back of Wade’s neck, kept their lips locked until the tension bled from his frame and he was kissing Peter back with the same enthusiasm as Peter was kissing him.

    Wade pulled back with a growl. “If you try to run I will stab you,” he informed Peter. “Probably somewhere non-lethal, but I will still stab you.” And he took off his suit.

    Peter’s eyes were immediately drawn to Wade’s cock – longer and decidedly thicker than Peter’s, it was scarred as heavily as the rest of Wade’s skin. But Peter couldn’t find it in himself to care. All he cared about was getting that cock inside him, common sense be damned.

    “Touch me,” Peter demanded, tearing his eyes away to stare up into Wade’s bright eyes. They were blue, he noticed absently. A very pretty blue, if he was being honest.

    “Fuck, fine. Lube… Where are you? Lube, don’t go fucking hiding on me, I am about to score so big – aha!”

    Peter almost rolled his eyes, because that was so Wade is almost hurt. Peter hooked his legs around Wade’s waist, pressing his erection against Wade’s, simply for the groan the other man uttered.

    Safe in the knowledge that Peter was not running from him, Wade reached down to press a finger into Peter’s asshole, massaging the base of his tail at the same time. Peter hissed out a breath, pressing back onto Wade’s finger.

    “Another,” Peter demanded.

    “Totally expecting you to throw a mug on the ground, baby boy,” Wade murmured, slicking up another finger and sliding it inside. Peter’s breath hitched. “That’s what Thor does, right?”

    “Wade,” Peter complained – he didn’t want to talk about Thor, he wanted more, more and – “Ah!” Peter gasped, body arching away from the bed.

    “Found it,” Wade said gleefully, pressing against Peter’s prostate again. His other hand was still squeezing Peter’s tail, and Peter decided he’d had enough teasing.

    “ _Wade_ ,” Peter whined, gasping for air when Wade unexpectedly pressed a third finger inside him. He worked Peter’s ass for a moment, muttering quietly to himself, before pulling his fingers out. Peter blinked at him, desperate noises falling from his lips.

    “Sssh, baby boy. I’ve got you.” Wade reached between them and tugged on Peter’s cock, scarred hands gloriously bare against Peter’s skin. “This is gonna feel strange.”

    Wade pressed his cock into Peter’s ass, letting Peter adjust to the stretch. Peter’s mouth fell open, chest stuttering as Wade pressed himself deeper. Peter was absently aware of his tail curling around Wade’s thigh, silently urging him on, even as Peter gasped at the ceiling.

    “Shit, baby boy, you’re so _tight_ ,” Wade grunted. “You feel so fucking good, I _know_ this isn’t a dream, shit has never felt this good. Are you gonna come for me, pretty boy?” Wade demanded, breath hot against Peter’s ear.

    Peter nodded breathlessly. “Wade, _please_ ,” he whimpered, writhing underneath the mercenary. Wade started up a steady rhythm, never stopping his constant stream of praise and filthy ideas for _next time_.

    Peter was surprisingly okay with a next time. In fact, he was looking forward to it.

    As Peter’s orgasm drew closer, he realized he was panting Wade’s name in time with each thrust, little whimpers of pleasure escaping his lips as he writhed beneath the mercenary. His nails were still claws, scratching along Wade’s back, and he felt momentarily apologetic for it until the next thrust hit his prostate dead on and he saw stars.

    Peter’s stomach clenched, and he arched up instinctively to sink his teeth into the juncture between Wade’s shoulder and neck. He bit hard, blood flavouring his mouth as his body spasmed and his orgasm raced through him.

    Wade’s hips stuttered, and he came with a low groan before collapsing on top of Peter. Peter pulled his mouth away from Wade’s skin, licking apologetically at the wound even as it began to heal.

    “Fuck,” Wade muttered. “That was great. We should do this again sometime.”

    Peter hummed in agreement, curling his pleasure heavy limbs around Wade as he began to drift off to sleep. They could worry about things when he woke up.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a quick little fic. Me taking a breather from TBWR. 14 pages later, I give you this. Hope you enjoy.
> 
> Tell me what you think!


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